A/N: Okay, so I read the manga for Black Butler, and decided that the Undertaker needed a background story as to why he's so obsessed with bringing back the dead. Sorry that this first chapter is a little short.
Song For This Chapter: Enchanted~ Taylor Swift
It was noon in England, and the air was was hot and dry, alive with the kind of wind that swept through a city only during a sweltering hot day. It burned your sinuses, but the clean oxygen was worth it in a busy metropolis like London.
The streets were crowded with sweating footmen and glossy-coated horses and gleaming carriages full of nobles and the well-to-do, all anxious to make it to their summer homes and the salvation of a cool drink and house.
The city blocks was so overflowing with people that, for a moment, the Undertaker thought that it would be impossible for him to find his prey. But, no, there she was, coming out of a small shop to the left.
She cut quite an impressive figure in the midst of all the people. She was very young, only about fifteen or sixteen, tall and willowy, with deadblack hair the color of polished midnight and eyes that would put a clear ocean sea to shame. Her cheeks were pale and smooth as unmarked vellum, but the complexion only accented her fine-boned features
"What a pity that a girl so young and beautiful would die in only a month." The Undertaker mused to himself, perched, invisible, on the rooftop of a nearby building like a predatory bird. He caressed the Death Scythe that lay in his lap. "Such a promising future... rich, beautiful, and betrothed to a well-off noble. Real shame." Of course, the Undertaker felt no real remorse towards the girl. Only a sort of vague curiosity, a feeling of "what-would-have-happened".
Still wondering to himself, he pulled out the tiny little notebook from the pocket of his robe. "Isabella Marie Scarlet. Dies in a month and a half's time from a carriage accident, a month from her wedding. Oh, how sad, how sad." The Undertaker chuckled again and stowed it away, following the girl's zig-zagging progress.
Isabella wove nimbly through the crowds, well-accustomed to the overflow of people during the summer.
"Miss Isabella! Miss Isabella!" She was suddenly hailed by a harried young woman, perhaps a bit younger than herself, with mousy bown hair pulled back into a severely neat bun. The girl was dressed in a black and white uniform that made it obvious that she was a maid.
The Undertaker leaned forward from his predatory stance on the rooftop, vaguely curious. He had long since known that if you wanted to know how a person really was, you had to take a look at how they trated their inferiors, not their equals. He wanted to know what kind of a person Isabella was. Would her beauty make her haughty? Proud? Compassionate?
Isabella turned, smiling lightly. "Hello, Maria. How are you today? You look a little flustered." She said politely.
The Undertaker was pleasantly surprised. The well-to-do of London almost always treated their servants with traces of supiority, disgust, or even contempt.
"Very well, thank you." Maria said breathlessly, face flushed with the fatigue of rushing through the people. "I have a message for you from Mistress Scarlett- your mother. She says-!"
"Ah, my dear mother Beatrice." Isabella mused, laughing, her eyes twinkling. "What is it this time? She talks too much. In London, Beatrice says is one word. When it is sunny out, we do not let the fair Beatricesays go about her business without a parasol. We fear she shall get a sunburned tongue."
The wit came thick and fast, and the Undertaker found himself laughing. Another nice surprise. Modern women rarely opened their mouths to do anything besides gossip. It was refreshing to find an Englishwoman who had some sagacity along with some boldness so she wasn't afraid to use it.
Maria gave a nervous laugh, but her eyes flicked to the crowd surging around them, as if she was participating in something forbidden and she was going to get busted for it.
"Miss Isabella, please do not insult your mother." She chastised timidly. "Anyway, she wants you to be home before supper. Your fiancé Gabriel is coming, and she insists on cleaning you up before he arrives."
"She always assumes that I get into trouble and mess up my appearance." Isabella sighed, but then she turned and started to walk away, waving cheerfully. "When will she learn that assuming makes an ass out of you and me?"
The Undertaker immediately followed her, feeling an inexorable pull towards the girl, interested despite himself.
Charismatic, polite, and smart.
It actually was a shame that she was going to die.
A/N: Review, favorite, follow.